


The Maxie Project

by AnonAlpaca



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire | Pokemon Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire Versions
Genre: ...is there a tag for implied referenced suicide but it's also in a nightmare, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28831350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAlpaca/pseuds/AnonAlpaca
Summary: The Magma Leader Maxie has 'moved on' from his regrettable actions. The Magma Leader Maxie is 'in recovery,' and doing very well. The Magma Leader Maxie lives a peaceful and quaint and pure existence....The Magma Leader Maxie is going to learn a lesson.
Relationships: Aogiri | Archie/Matsubusa | Maxie
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	The Maxie Project

The Magma Leader Maxie lives a very quaint and peaceful existence.

  
On the anniversary of the Great Weather Disaster that almost ended life as we know it on planet Earth - he sits and drinks a mug of coffee, with barely any coffee in it. (For he doesn’t need to work all night, and he doesn’t need to drive a getaway vehicle all day.) 

  
He nests in faraway Celestic Town with his once-worst-enemy, now getting light kisses on the cheek as he leaves for home - and most of his admins have left to lead their own lives. They have already wished him a day of no anxiety on the anniversary of That - Tabitha, Matt, Shelly, Courtney must have been getting around to it. The messages fill up his Poketch like birthday cards on a mantelpiece.

And the man who makes the coffee here wishes him a nice day, as he’s done every day for the last few months.   
  
“And I was thinking we could try a day trip to Hearthome sometime,” he suggests, leaving at a snail’s pace, “You would love Amity Park - “   
“Ahhh, could we afford the hotels, though?” Archie grimaces.   
“I’ll...look into that. Anyhow, goodbye!”   
“Byeee! Love you!”   
  
Date night was last night. And he quietly half-curses the fact he can’t have another one tonight too, for there’s a whole stack of DVDs that needs working through. ( _ ‘You can’t keep sleeping over at Archie’s, someone’s got to clean the flat, _ ’ Tabitha would say. Pragmatic as always.) 

  
He takes a different route to his flat today, up by the highway for the hell of it - in the space between the road and the forest of pines, coated in light snow, slush, and pine needles. He trips sometimes, on the fallen branches that no-one bothered to clean up, but that is fine. Work is done. The path smells of Midwinter, and he hears the Starly sing his praises.   
For what he isn’t sure. Maybe the kiss. It feels like an achievement, anyhow.   
  
He’s just coming up to the bus-stop, by the stairs to his flat when a car whizzes past, tyres screaming in the tune of a hundred kilometres an hour. Maxie bends double. It rings like sirens.   
...Then the Magma Leader Maxie finally looks up, and it happens.

  
He’s standing closer to the bus stop than he was a second ago. Two figures are waiting there together, back turned. Silent. One man in the most average of average clothes you could possibly imagine, and another with...short lavender hair. And a hoodie with horns.

  
“Hello?”   
She doesn’t hear.   
“Courtney!” Maxie cries, holding his arms wide, “Welcome back. I see you’ve dyed your hair again?”   
Both figures turn to face him, in shock. There is absolute terror in the woman’s eyes.   
“Who are you?” she says, deadpan.   
“It’s me, Maxie! It’s all right,” he says, taking one step forward for every step she takes back and again and again, “I’ve changed clothes. “   
“I’m sorry,” they snap, turning to run, “I don’t think I know you.“

So like a Mightyena chasing a ball - he runs too.

  
He chases her, skating and sliding on the wet leaves and snow, past the bus stop, down the highway, huffing and puffing, vision like he’s looking through a tiny hole with the girl in lavender hair in the center of it. She’s wearing the old uniform. Sweater and all.    
“Courtney?  _ Courtney! _ ”   
He doesn’t get it.   
“Stop that.“   
Until someone catches his arm and grips it very, very hard. It’s the average man in the average clothes with superhuman strength and they pull him up, over the barrier by the highway until he’s collapsed against it, metal digging into his hands.    
The average man looks down at him first blankly and then, with a look of utter disgust. There’s some kind of plate under his shirt, and Maxie feels a shiver go down his spine.

  
_ My facial recognition skills are also shaky, _ he thinks to himself, but doesn’t actually believe.   
“You don’t know her, do you?” they say to him.   
“Yes, I do,” he blurts out, “that’s my old colleague.”   
“I’ve heard that one before,” they snap back, digging their fingers in further, “Now what you’re going to do is turn right back around, before I call the police.”   
Maxie’s heart drops.   
“Of course,” he replies at once, “my apologies for my threatening demeanour - “   
“ _ Go. _ ”   
  
And so the Magma Leader Maxie turns right back around, bright red in the face and, like a Mightyena still, with his tail in between his legs. He slinks in between the pine trees, in the dark, and tries to make himself very, very small as he makes the walk back to his house. But of course, he still turns back around for a second at a time, trying not to make eye contact, just to check that he might be...right.    
He is. Believe me, he is. Even from here he could tell that was his...long-suffering second-in-command. Same coat, same face, same shape of the hair. Maxie’s chest begins to ache like a block of ice.   
And he sees her mouthing “thankyou” to the average man.   
  
That leaves him with only one option.   
On top of the two obvious things; the chasing and the Groudon-summoning, he has done something absolutely horrible to Courtney. Either something he wasn’t aware of, or something he’s been aware of for a year.   
...And he doesn’t know which frightens him more.

* * *

The Magma Leader Maxie is, in theory, no longer a Magma Leader.   
  
He returns back to his flat, saying nothing to anyone and immediately retreating to his room. No-one asks why he ran so quick or why he was late. Thank goodness for that. Quickly, he hides behind his door like someone’s trying to get in and waits, one, two, three, four, five...until he goes to close all the curtains, and curl up in his bed resigned. 

  
He looks at his Poketch and realises that the last message from Courtney was about a week ago. Some kind of courtesy message regarding legalese.   
Everything that isn’t the bed and the duvet begins to drop away.   
  
Why?   
First of all, he thinks, she’s  _ faceblind _ , not an amnesiac. And she had a crush on him in those five years where he was his boss, not become completely stupid. There’s a chance and a half that after talking to her family, a therapist, anybody that wasn’t neck deep in Aqua, Magma drama and decided he was...fundamentally, a very hateful man who she didn’t want in her life anymore. (Good for her, he felt obliged to think.)   
  
She’d left for Solaceon Town, and his reaction was...overblown. It doesn’t seem like something she would do, but he could always be wrong. (He had the therapist’s appointment tomorrow, didn’t he? He hopes so. He needs it and whatever he’s doing clearly isn’t working.)   
  
Surely he could fix this. On the one hand he could just sit here, give himself time to cool down, but again, clearly, he’d been too late for something vital, maybe just one final word that would’ve convinced her he was okay again -    
He blinks, and suddenly there is a new message.   
[ Hope the anniversary wasn’t too hard on you. ] 

...Which he sent.

_ Oh, no. _   
“Maxie!” Tabitha calls out from the other room, “I’m done with work now; you mind doing the dishes so I can make dinner?”   
...He hastily turns off the Poketch, and runs.   
In the living room, Tabitha’s getting up off the computer and heading to the kitchen - and judging by the colours on the screen, he...definitely hadn’t been doing work. Maxie’s in no place to judge him for it, he’s sure.    
They stand there, forced next to each other in the tiny floorspace. Maxie scrubs the plates, Tabitha cuts the onions. Neither of them want to say a word. Maxie hiccups - loudly, and somewhat pathetically. If a hiccup can be pathetic.   
Tabitha takes a moment to compose himself.   
“You alright?” he says, casually.   
“Why?”

“You’re...looking very pale.”   
  
“It’s  _ freezing _ outside.” He sniffles.   
Tabitha tilts his head. “You look like you’re about to - “   
“ _ That _ is the onions.”   
Maxie looks over at the table, covered in letters.   
“...And the taxes.”   
For a moment they go back to cleaning and cutting. Tabitha appears to flounder for a moment when he thinks Maxie isn’t looking, before again - he blinks and composes himself.   
“I thought you kind of liked, uh...doing the taxes.”   
“And about the anniversary, I have been doing very well for myself,” Maxie explained in detail, “I’ve stopped watching the news, I’ve thrown out the newspapers, me and Archie too.”   
“No,” Tabitha replies, somehow excited, “I know it’s not the anniversary - “   
“Good.”   
  
Anger flits across their face.   
“Sorry, what?” Tabitha mutters, almost impossibly quietly. Maxie politely pretends not to hear it, like a sentence that someone decided to change their mind halfway through speaking it. He keeps on scrubbing, fast enough that he can leave.   
“Alright, well,” Tabitha finishes, placing a kindly hand on Maxie’s shoulder, “you just take care of yourself, alright? I can imagine this is much harder on you than, uh...me. I can handle some of the paperwork if need be.”   
“Of course, it’s what you’re good at,” Maxie blurts out. (It’s partially true.)   
But Tabitha forgives it, and so they go on cutting and cleaning in silence.    
  
When he’s finally done, Maxie nods, retreats, and...feels a buzzing on his wrist. Two, actually. One of them is from Archie, and he begins to feel ill.   
_ [ sending good vibes tonight xx ] _   
Ill in the best way he could possibly say, but still. He feels the urge to go hide in the flat’s one bathroom, sit in the tub of all places and try to think of a response. It’s cold, dark, and more secluded. The only light is from the Poketch, bright and greenish.

_ [ Much appreciated. xox ]  _   
As always.   
Then, he...redirects his attention to the second buzz. He drags down the tiny menu with the tip of his finger. It’s from Courtney. It’s definitely from Courtney, and within a mere five minutes -   
  
_ [ +0500-267383-1 Error Invalid Handle Name “Bonfire” Please re-send using valid handle name. This user might have been deleted. ] _   
  


* * *

Ms. Gene seems stressed today.

  
Maxie has, so far, been able to keep it together for 12 or so hours, including the night (where he hardly slept) before dragging himself to the office of the one and only therapist in Celestic Town. He ignores the newspaper on his front step, something boring about the Champion again and leaves it to be soaked in the sleet.    
The one lady working here knows him well too. Again, she had asked what they needed to discuss today, as she’d done every day for the past few weeks.   
  
She knows him well enough to hear the worst of the Magma Leader Maxie’s life, and the fact that he was the Magma Leader Maxie at all. She also knows the confidentiality contract well enough not to tell anybody about it. And in public, they don’t know each other at all.   
Occasionally he asks to see it just to make sure it’s still there and legally binding. (Those are also generally the days he leaves with a recurring hiccup and a wet handkerchief.) Fortunately for Maxie, today is not one of them.   
  
...Still, Ms. Gene was expecting tears.   
  
“Have you thought about the idea,” she proposes, “that that might not have  _ been _ Courtney?”   
The Magma Leader Maxie almost breaks the stress ball.    
“No.”   
“I remember, you mentioned how you felt you could’ve had an opportunity to become a better version of yourself before she left. It’s perfectly natural for you to want a proper form of closure,” she explains, “and sometimes, that means seeing what you want to see - right?”   
Maxie covers his face with his hands, sighing deeply. He can see himself through both the average man and Ms. Gene’s eyes at once, now that he talks about it.

  
“But - on the offchance that it was her,” he forces out, “and she has decided to...un-know me - “   
“I think you mentioned her face blindness,” they replied.   
“Yes, and the usual protocol for someone with face blindness if someone they don’t immediately recognise says they know them, is assume they probably do - “ Maxie argues, in a long stream of words, “when did I  _ tell _ you about that again?”    
  
Ms. Gene pauses for a while. And then, her face softens. It’s finally gotten through to her.   
“...Suppose the worst-case scenario did happen, and she did decide to - cut you out of her life, as you say,” she says softly, “then I think your best course of action is to...wait.”   
“Wait?”   
“I know it’s hard. Incredibly hard, but...you don’t want to do anything you might regret later. Maybe you could tell me what other stressful things are going on in your life. Taxes, work, anything. If I recall correctly, it’s close to the anniversary of the Weather Disaster.”   
Maxie goes blank. ( _...Taxes? What taxes? _ )   
“She might eventually explain to you what’s going on. Or, she might not. You’ll need to prepare yourself emotionally for that possibility.”   
“But - wouldn’t it be right to at least start that conversation? To  _ ask? _ ” Maxie almost begs, his voice tilting higher and higher and quieter.   
Ms. Gene steeples her fingers.   
  
“What kind of outcome would you be hoping for?”   
_ Oh. _   
“For her to change her mind?”   
His hand is still resting on top of his dead Poketch, and the screen is slick from sweat.   
“Yes,” says Maxie, completely defeated.   
“I know that the last thing you need in your life,” Ms. Gene continues to explain, “is another difficult rejection. Or another thing with the police if things go south.” Maxie lays back in the scruffy old rocking chair as he tries to listen, over the crowding noise of his stomach telling him he needs to go be sick. Until the -    
“Police?”   
Silence.

  
“Sorry, what?” Ms. Gene mutters to herself - “Oh, right. You mentioned that in the story. The guy threatened to call the police.”   
Maxie’s heart lurches, but for the absolute wrong reason. 

No, he didn’t mention the threat. Ever. He specifically didn’t mention it because he didn’t want to detract from the story, make it another facet of the second most traumatic thing he ever went through, and maybe for his own selfish desire to make him appear to be…   
Something slips out.   
“I think I...might be going  _ mad _ .”   
  
“No, you’re not.”   
(It’s probably what she wants to hear.)   
“It probably doesn’t sound good, but sometimes I don’t know what I’m talking about either.”   
Then she pauses for effect, as though it were a joke that Maxie isn’t getting.   
  


* * *

  
This is not the first time Maxie has left therapy angry. It  _ is _ the first time it wasn’t entirely directed at himself. He leaves the therapist’s office almost reluctantly this time. In fact, he’s in half a mind, which he’s sure he might be losing, to turn around and barge back in.

He skips his afternoon coffee for fear of the man at the counter wringing some kind of explanation out of him. He’s staring at the ground and sleepwalking up to the same abandoned highway path, up by the bus-stop (which is now out of order) and down to his flat - and he almost doesn’t notice his mistake.   
  
It’s only when he gets home that he realises he forgot his gloves - he’s in such a hurry to get indoors that he almost trips on the newspaper.   
...Maxie looks back, sees the headline, and now deliberately ignores it.   
  
For approximately five seconds.   
_ “‘Remember the damage, remember the lesson’ says Gym Leader Juan About Hoenn Weather Disaster’s 1st Anniversary.” _   
That’s what’s plastered on the front cover. Alongside it is a black-and-white picture of a memorial, held at the island in the middle of Sootopolis, lit by candles, with images of the firefighters, and relief workers, and...heroes, for lack of a better term that cleaned up the mess. He had definitely seen it before, he even knew some of their names. In fact, he’d seen the same image circulated on all the anniversary articles he took great care to avoid, or...said he did.   
The image is in higher resolution than the rest of the newspaper.   
“Why would a Sinnohan newspaper have Hoennian news on the front page?” says Maxie aloud. Tabitha’s ears perk up, he’s lying on the couch and watching a Galarian tournament. He’s even got some other friends over for the occasion. The scruffy man who let them hitchhike here in the first place. Someone he’s never seen before. Even the postmaster’s here. (Small town, small world. It’s unbelievable how quick they grew to like him.)   
  
Against his...best judgement, Maxie wanders over and sits next to them - surely what he needs is a good nitpicking session with Tabitha. (Ah, Tabitha.)   
“Well, the entire planet  _ was _ kind of involved,” they reply, shrugging.   
“Aye,” says the postmaster, “they’re not just gonna forget that!”   
“No!” Maxie gasps, “no, of course not, I think...it’s terrible for people to forget. People should be reminded of the truth,  _ actively _ ,” he continues explaining, somewhat forgetting they’re all watching sports on TV, “and if they don’t, humanity will never advance.”    
The visitors chuckle.   
_ Oh, no. _   
“That’s what the Magma guy said, innit?” says the scruffy man, holding a pint.   
The guy he doesn’t know leans forward - “What do you make of him?”    
“Well,” Maxie replies, keeping his cool while forcefully snatching the newspaper back, “I don’t exactly have any thoughts on him, to be honest. I shall...catch myself up.” Tabitha nods, knowingly.   
“Good!”   
Maxie looks back down at the newspaper and leaves the couch without a word. Slowly he paces a circle in the shag carpet. There’s something about the headline and the general...shape of the page that bothers him.  _ He’s seen this headline before, hasn’t he - _   
  
But at that moment Maxie stops himself. Almost in the voice of a therapist he reminds himself that clearly, judging by his session earlier that day and...everything, his memory is getting spotty, through anxiety and fear and wishful thinking. Newspapers and online sources will often copy headlines back and forth.   
_ “‘Remember the damage, remember the lesson’ quoted from Gym Leader Juan About Hoenn Weather Disaster’s 1st Anniversary.” _   
_ “‘Remember the damage, remember the lesson’ quoted from Gym Leader Juan About Hoenn Weather Disaster’s 1st Anniversary.” _ _   
_ _ “‘Remember the damage, remember the lesson’ quoted from Gym Leader Juan About Hoenn Weather Disaster’s 1st Anniversary. Sinnoh Times, 17th August - “ _ _   
_   
It’s the 18th.   
This newspaper was delivered twice.   
Either that or he’s going mad.   
If he doesn’t know whether or not he’s gone mad it’ll only make it worse, he knows this, and so Maxie, newspaper still in hand, leaves the flat and walks out into the chilly night air. (And he remembers this newspaper not being here when he left.) Where do newspapers go if Maxie thinks they’re bad? In the recycling bin. Finally, he’s able to find the green bin, hiding around the back of the flat - Tabitha always empties it, the one thing he won’t get Maxie to do. (Lovely gesture, not making him go out in the cold.)    
  
Still. He looks down at the newspaper in hand. Before he knows it, he is quietly flipping open the lid of the recycling bin and stretching his hand inside, trying to touch something that feels like a newspaper. (Everything feels like a newspaper.)   
Then he tries two hands.   
Then, at once, he tries throwing in everything up to his shoulders.    
  
All the contents of the bin have been soaked through. Quite recently, in fact. The paper and cardboard crumples into mush as he digs his whole arm through it. Once in a while he can bring something up in front of his face that wasn’t really a newspaper, just a pamphlet or a sheet of plastic wrap. Even a bottle at one point. It all smells of rot. Eventually, so does he.   
  
Eventually he feels something tubular under his hand. In fact, he feels two. The Magma Leader Maxie tries to curl his fingers around it - they don’t feel like his and they’re white as a sheet - but the first time they slip on the much, the second time they get caught under a box, the third time he loses one and he really, really isn’t willing to only take one out of the bin at a time, the fourth time he almost falls in himself and the bin begins to tip, and tip, and…   
  
He has it! He has them!   
Hastily Maxie puts them down in the slush and tries to scoop as much of the paper muck back into the lopsided bin as possible but - he can wait no longer. His heart’s pounding. In fact, he feels like he’s just found a treasure map.   
  
Not one, but two.   
The newspapers look the exact same - they’re still in their plastic wrapping. Like a child tearing open presents on their birthday he rips it to shreds and (hopefully) throws it behind him.    
_ “‘Remember the damage, remember the lesson’ quoted from Gym Leader Juan About Hoenn Weather Disaster’s 1st Anniversary.” _ _   
_ ...Correctly dated to August 17th. He vividly remembers throwing it in the recycling bin as soon as he saw the headline. He wasn’t open to having that kitchen-sink conversation, not today. In fact, not ever.    
_ “Champion Cynthia opens up about Ruin Tourists - More Rules Now!” _   
...Dated to August 18th.    
  
He tripped over this one. On his way to the therapist’s office. That one had to have been soaked in sleet, the one he’d just gotten was dry and clean as a whistle.   
Maxie’s chest begins to go cold.   
If the paper dated to August 18th was here this morning, and the paper dated to August 17th was here when he came back, that means someone would have swapped them. This was not a paperboy’s innocent and yet divinely ironic mistake.    
What motive would someone have had to swap the newspapers? Obvious question; to psych him out. They knew the twinge in his chest he felt when he first saw that newspaper at the door and knew his dread at the thought of having to read someone’s...again, almost divine judgement of him, in retrospect. In their minds he was dead, and what must the dead eventually do but be assessed of guilt?    
They were one of those people, and they wanted their judgement of the man from Hoenn with absolute hate in his voice, to be heard. Acknowledged.  _ Internalised _ .   
  
Maxie takes this idea with surprising calm. It doesn’t strike him as unusual, even understandable.   
  


But then he goes through the logic of it.   
In order to actually carry out this plan, they would’ve obviously had to know his address. They would’ve then had to have known that he would throw out the first copy of the anniversary newspaper. And then, in order to carry out the actual swap, they would’ve either had to have been watching him leave the flat, or somehow know his daily schedule down to the minute. In fact, not just his - Tabitha’s too.   
  
The implication was clear: the Magma Leader Maxie had a stalker.   
  
Yet - his online presence was virtually erased. His credit cards were cancelled. His bank accounts were frozen. He hadn’t paid for anything in months except for in cash. His trusty burner phone had been incinerated by Camerupt, in favor of a fresh Poketch.   
In fact, legally the Magma Leader Maxie is dead. Albeit, with the footnote that it was a presumed death, and no body was ever recovered - but the International Police are fairly sure that he died of exposure in the Mt. Coronet range.

  
...The only people who would have a chance of figuring it out live in Celestic Town.   
(He curls up beside the wall, his breath, short, hard, fast, shows in the air. He brings his Poketch up to his face, and the fog collects on the screen.)

  
Only  _ seven _ people here know his true identity. Himself, Archie, Tabitha, Shelly, Courtney, Matt, and Ms. Gene. Six of them would never dream of betraying him, and he would never dream of thinking that either. They would never let anything slip because he would notice.    
...But the remaining one only has a piece of signed paper to prevent her from ruining his life.   
  
Except - he had been sitting with Ms. Gene for the entire window of time someone could have swapped the newspapers. So clearly it isn’t her and if it isn’t her it can’t be anyone, he thinks, trying to make himself get up -   
And at that point it hits him.   
  
_ It means she’s already let the cat out of the bag. _   
  
His first instinct is, as always, to call Archie. It barely takes any time for him to pick up.    
“Hey, what’s wrong?”   
And breathlessly he explains in exhaustive detail what happened that day, and how Courtney’s gone and something’s  _ wrong _ , as Archie listens on the other end, making noises of comfort at him until he...fully grasps what’s going on.   
“Have you had... _ anything _ strange happen to you recently?” Maxie asks, desperate, “Think. Anything out of the ordinary. If we just work together, we’ll find some kind of correlation - “   
“No, I... I don’t?” Archie stammers back, breathing heavily, “You can come over to my place if it’d be safer for you - “   
“They’d know.”   
“Do you...have any leads for who it is at the moment?”   
“Ms. Gene. Ms. Gene - my therapist. It’s the only person it could be.”   
  
There is radio silence for a moment. Maxie’s chest tightens. He brings his knees close to his chest and he sits, with soaking wet arms and fingers run white and raw.   
Then, Archie begins to cry. It’s horribly distorted through the Poketch’s speaker and he’s trying to hide it but it’s him. He’s repeating, repeating, repeating that  _ he’s sorry, he’s so sorry -  _   
Maxie can’t bear to listen. He’s not sure if they understand.   
If Courtney was the first to go, who next?   
“Archie - “ he argues, trying now to be calm and collected even as his breath shakes, “Dear, don’t cry. Please. I have a plan, I’m going to break her cover. I’m going to make her admit it.”   
“You don’t have to do this - “

“I will.”    
  


* * *

The plan is foolproof. 

  
It just so happens that there is a large match in Wyndon Stadium being shown at the Uxie’s Tail, and almost everyone he knows personally in Celestic Town is attending. The web of social connections in here is almost guaranteed to lead back to his suspect. It’s easy and somewhat discreet, should he end up regretting it later. 

  
Archie’s been calling him and calling him since he outlined the plan. For snatches of time he feels absolutely horrible for putting him through this. It’s usually when he’s alone and not in direct contact with the people who, by extension, are also his suspects. Otherwise, he can’t hold onto the guilt for more than a second. Or anything for that matter.   
  
Right now, in the late evening on the 19th of August, 20 people sit at separate tables in the Uxie’s Tail, getting drunk, eating chicken wings. Undefeated Galarian champion Victor is still undefeated as ever, and he still has one of those fancy dogs to his name.

  
He hates the noise, but he stuffs that down into his chest and carries on waiting. Looking around. (Maxie even sees Tabitha and Shelly walking ‘round the bar - they bump into each other, look at each other, and react like a film star that just looked at the camera by mistake.)   
He probably should’ve said something to them. Too late now.   
  
In fact, it’s probably too late for even  _ him _ to back out now. His hands are pale. He hasn’t eaten anything more than chips for the past day, and he can’t reach for one of the game day snacks because he might miss his opportunity to say It.   
...Eventually, that is what it takes for him to finally do It.   
  
The commercial break happens. Everyone looks away from the screen, awkwardly picks up their phones.    
“Well, that reminds me, Lennox,” Maxie declares, taking a theatrical swig of beer, “I’ve done a bit more research on this ‘Maximillian’ bloke since we last talked!”   
The postmaster looks over and nods.   
“It’s awful what he did, isn’t it?”   
“Oh, yeah!”

  
Just keep calm. Stick to the script. This might even be funny to you.   
“And it infuriates me,” he continues, thumping the table and shifting the cloth, “how people are able to be simply forgotten about for crimes as severe as - attempted  _ planetary destruction _ .”    
No-one apart from the postmaster and Tabitha are looking yet.   
“If anything,” he snaps, “it shows that there isn’t any such thing as karma in this world.”   
Now a few people are.   
“Because if there were, then this Maxie would’ve been _ arrested, and tried, and punished  _ as soon as he tried to leave Hoenn,” Maxie declared loudly, standing up and hearing a few cursory mm-hms from the crowd of onlookers at the other tables. Some of them nod sagely, others look like they were blown back by the force of his voice. Tabitha mimes for him to keep it down, but -   
  
“ _ And if the police can’t do their bloody jobs _ ,” he howls, spittle flying from his mouth, “ **_then I’m surprised the man hasn’t offed himself!_ ** ”   
It’s too late.

* * *

The clock ticks.

  
The Magma Leader Maxie is good at one very specific skill, which is panicking when by all means he should. The Magma Leader Maxie is known for taking risks. The Magma Leader Maxie presents himself as a chessmaster, sitting in the therapist’s office with his fingers steepled in front of his best blank face with his heart attempting to escape his chest.   
The Magma Leader Maxie is clever.   
  
They have been sitting here for a minute.   
Ms. Gene is the first to speak. “Is there anything you wish to talk about?” she says.   
Maxie lays the bait.   
“...First of all,” says Maxie quite calmly, “I have been taking some time to process. And I disagree with your advice not to try and make contact with Courtney again.”   
Ms. Gene doesn’t take it.   
“I, uh...can’t stop you,” she replies, looking down at her clipboard and breaking eye contact, “But I’d say you should think about what you’d be really getting out of it before you take action. Sometimes, you - “   
“No, no,” says Maxie, holding up his hand to make her stop, “what do you...actually think of this plan? Tell me honestly.”   
“I don’t know enough about this Courtney person, or...what you did specifically to make her cut you out of her life, so I can’t really say.”   
  
“Neither do I. And yet,” Maxie explains, “you say there’s nothing I can do, but - but what if I told you getting in contact with her is of...grave importance. Because  _ someone _ ,” he growls, “knows who I was, and someone is sitting on that information until…”   
_ Until he snaps? Oh, he’s - he’s definitely snapped, that much is true. By all means they might’ve already succeeded. If he’s wrong, it’d almost feel worse. _   
“Until they see it fit to harm me.”   
_ If he’s right about that part, it’d almost feel better. _   
  
Ms. Gene hastily scribbles something meaningless on her clipboard.    
“Tell me,” Maxie asks her innocently, “what  _ are _ the consequences of breaking the patient-therapist confidentiality contract?”   
Ms. Gene looks up. “You could absolutely sue me.”   
“But you are very, very aware that suing you is probably the  _ least _ secretive thing I could do.”   
She shrugs. “I’d never work as a therapist again, then.”   
Maxie’s hands begin to shake. If she doesn’t take the bait soon she’s going to try and disprove it concretely, he knows this. She’s going to say he’s having a paranoid breakdown onset by the anniversary of a traumatic event which sounds very, very true. 

He has an extremely vivid vision of him snapping a hand over her mouth if she tries and forcing her to the floor of the therapist’s office for a split second but - he doesn’t want to. No, no, no.   
  
“Ms. Gene, is it true that you can...break the confidentiality contract, and act against protocol if the patient is either an imminent danger to others, or imminent danger to themselves?”   
_ Something. _   
“For example, if you find that someone is threatening to commit suicide through an outside source, are you given authority to act on it?”   
_ Say something. _   
  
“Yes, but that is a last resort,” says Ms. Gene, leaning in, “and I really do mean - a last resort. If I did that, it’d be investigated afterwards to see if I was actually justified. It’s...much, much rarer than the movies make it out to be, Maxie, but still - I’d hate for you to feel unsafe in this environment because of a common misconception.”   
That cuts deep. Very deep.    
(What the hell is he supposed to say to Archie after this?...)   
  
“If you had a plan, a  _ detailed _ plan to, say, commit suicide, or harm somebody, and you had full intention of acting on it, then yes,” Ms. Gene continues, smiling, “but if I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure it was genuine intent, then no. If a little bird told me that you had said, once, that you wanted to kill yourself, then that isn’t enough.”   
And then...   
“I’d also obviously have to take into account things like alcohol - say, this happened at a  _ pub  _ \- “   
  
_ A slip of the tongue. _

* * *

The Magma Leader Maxie runs from his therapist’s office better than he did the International Police. Pity it couldn’t have happened then. Somehow he’s vindicated that it happened now. He’s skating up his driveway and tearing open the mailbox’s front door with shaking fingers just to check (he’s forgotten his gloves again) - and the inside of it pours onto his waiting hands and on the ground, trickling sewerage-like out until all the junk mail is upside.   
  
Maxie’s glasses sit uncollected in Ms. Gene’s room. The text printed on them is huge like it’s written for the nearsighted.

  
_ Visit Hoenn this Winter! Remember the damage, remember the lesson - an electricity bill on top of that. Better Ring Ming, the lawyer for the undefendable! Coronet Church, finding your faith. Team Anonymous, support group for all ex-grunts! Visit Hoenn this Winter! Heat killing you? Try the Snorunt fan! Sign up for the neighborhood watch and keep your neighborhood safe. Visit Hoenn this Winter! Remember the damage, remember the lesson, remember, remember -  _   
  
He picks one up and turns it over -  _ Heat killing you? _ \- and on the other side is written, bold font, black ink -  _ Heat killing you? _ (The paper crumbles into ash and stains his front.) 

The Magma Leader Maxie is touching the fingerprints of a person who, written in every fiber of their being and every stroke of their pen, is hatred for him. They wish to see him realise the lesson and lose his mind as a result.   
  
It feels good to say it again, like a child first learning a naughty word after they heard it from their parents. After the months of Ms. Gene telling him how to not be such a hateful, hateful man without ever actually saying the word hateful. After the months of Tabitha chastising him for his past beliefs. After the past few beautiful, beautiful months of Archie holding him as he whimpers like a little boy, and telling him that no-one is coming to get him and that he’s safe now. 

  
(He’s going to say it. Someone hates him back. Hate, hate,  _ hate _ with a capital H. )   
  
Tabitha watches Maxie enter. His gait is stiff and robotic and he doesn’t say a word. (By now he knows not to react either.) He walks straight through the living room, enters his bedroom, and comes out with a purse, coat, and hat. It’s pouring with sleet outside.   
“Tomorrow,” Maxie declares, almost talking to the wall and hearing three consecutive buzzes, “I am calling in sick to work, and going to Solaceon Town to see what happened to Courtney.”   
“Wait - “ Tabitha stammers, catching his arm, “you have -  _ told _ her, haven’t you?”   
“No. Her number’s been deleted.”   
“Boss, you can’t just  _ show up there _ \- “   
But Maxie is already looking down at his Poketch. He shakes it like he’s trying to wring some information out of it but the screen won’t change.   
  
_ [ +0500-267383-1 Error Invalid Handle Name “ConchShelly” Please re-send using valid handle name. This user might have been deleted. ] _ _   
_ _ [ +0500-267383-1 Error Invalid Handle Name “Bro” Please re-send using valid handle name. This user might have been deleted. ] _ _   
_ _ [ +0500-267383-1 Error Invalid Handle Name “Tabitha” Please re-send using valid handle name. This user might have been deleted. ] _   
  
“Yes, I can.”   
“Also, the bus ride’s really going to cut into our budget.”   
“And how much does the bus ride cost?”   
“A lot?”   
Even Tabitha has gone pale by this point and Maxie can see it. They don't even touch him. Maxie’s...trying to come up with a decent explanation as to why he’s changed so drastically in the past two or three days -  _ only _ two or three days,  _ he’s sorry, so sorry and possibly an idiot _ \- cross his heart and hope to die, but...   
“Tabitha, we’ve - “   
He can’t hold onto it for longer than a second.    
“I’ve - never left Celestic Town since I came here. Not once.”   
The Magma Leader Maxie has no idea what this means.   
But he’s already gone.

* * *

  
He still feels absolutely horrible for putting Archie through this.

When he shows up at the flat next door, it’s 8’o clock at night. He drags Archie out of the living room like a rescue worker dragging someone out of a wreck, fully aware that when Archie comes back the next day Archie’s house might not be his.

  
They’ve seen him comfortable in a nest of donated clothes and pity careers and housing, but now they’ve already taken Maxie’s flat for themselves and claimed his mailbox as their territory. He is wordless, running like a rabbit, up, up, up the stairs, away from the flat, away from any buildings, away from the PokeCenter and - to the highway. Escape.    
_ The real world is out there, _ he blurts out.   
  
They have nothing. Archie made them put away the escape kits months ago. Spend the emergency money on bills. Put the disguises into their wardrobe with the normal clothes. They’re not doing this again.  _ Morally _ it isn’t right.  _ Mentally _ it isn’t right.   
But, oh, god, the look on Archie’s face when Maxie showed him the mail. And the newspapers. And the lesson. (And the Magma Leader Maxie can’t  _ change _ this, no, no, no.)   
  
It’s not even him putting Archie through this.   
“If I go to Solaceon Town,” he explains, grabbing Archie by the arm and taking him to the bus-stop, “if I go to Solaceon, and Courtney isn’t there, then we’ll know if something’s happened to her - you and I know she’s the weakest link in all of this, she’s gone - “   
Archie stutters. He’s pulling back.   
“Wait, wait, wait,” he gasps, suddenly looking more sorry for Maxie than for himself, “this is all ‘cause of Courtney leaving?”   
“Yes! She’s disappeared!”   
“Max, you didn’t tell me about that bit.”   
He’s answered by an even tighter grip around the wrist. Maxie’s going through an entire journey of the face and his eyes can hardly keep focused.    
“Look, I - “ Archie croaks, hardly able to look at him either, “I think we need to get home.”   
  
“You do - understand what I’m  _ getting _ at, don’t you?” Maxie wonders, in a small, almost pathetic sounding beg, “Archie - how many times have we both said that we - we could’ve easily been arrested last year if we just...made one mistake? Or froze to death on the side of the road if someone didn’t save us at the last second? Or that we’re lucky we’re legally dead? I’m - “   
He’s gritting his teeth now.    
“I’m so sorry, Archie, but...this isn’t  _ normal _ .”   
And then the rush of elation that fills his face as he drags Archie’s hand, still dug into by the bitten nails - up to his heart.   
“But - if we run now, whoever’s been...toying with us won’t know what’s going on,” he explains, trying to see a hint of a smile on Archie’s face, “they think we forgot. That’s why they  _ hate _ us.”   
As he speaks, the bus scheduled for right now and headed for anywhere else, shines its headlights on the road. The driver sees the couple standing in the street and hits the brakes.   
…Archie’s eyes go round as saucers.   
“Maxie, you’re in your nightgown, for crying out loud - ” At once, Maxie drags him in even closer by the wrist until Archie can feel the breath on his face. They’re eye to eye now.   
“ _ We both ran from the same policemen, didn’t we?! _ ”   
The doors behind them open with a hiss of hydraulic air.

  
“We did,” Archie tells him, “and the last time we did, it did  _ nothing.  _ We just kept running, and running, and running, until the police didn’t care about us anymore. And if you still think that - that  _ this _ is the only option that you could possible take - ” he continues, choking on the back of his throat, “at the very least, I’m getting you home and if comes down to it, I’ll hunt this someone down, but - you cannot expect me to _ stand by _ , while _ you go back to what almost  _ **_killed us!_ ** ”   
  
Maxie is frozen. He’s  _ thinking _ . He’s remembering.

“...I love you too much for that, you realise?”   
“Then come with me,” Maxie blurts out, “and  _ prove it. _ ”   
  


Archie’s wrist slips out of Maxie’s hand. 

The outline of Maxie’s fingernails is still imprinted on him like a dog’s bite, but Archie takes three steps back, and folds his arms behind his back. He appears to take a deep breath and waits.   
Then he gets his wallet out of his pocket.    
“Wait,” Maxie stutters, “no, that’s not what I meant - I know you love me, you don’t have to - “   
He steps onboard the outbound bus, and signals for the driver to shut the doors.    
“Archie?”   
No jingling of change is heard nor conversation, not even as the Magma Leader Maxie tries to grab the rearview mirror and run.   
“Archie,  _ WAIT!  _ **_I’M NOT DONE -_ ** **“**   
  
As the bus drives away, the windows go dark.   
Maxie stops running. In fact, he takes the time to sit down, and watch the bus go. This time, it finally gets through to him.   
  
In that moment, as he gets up off the ground, he stops caring - who exactly was this person who hated him this much, or persons, perhaps. In his mind they had been a sort of shadow figure. Maybe with a Pokemon that died in the aftermath of the Omega Drought. A vigilante with a far more intricate love of karma and justice and such than him. Or perhaps it was just someone that knew him, and understood.   
  
...But as of right now, in his head - that individual dissolves into many little bits, and scattered in the wind. They fly down to where the bus is, and up into the air. They fly into Celestic Town as the lights go out.   
  
It’s - it’s the lesson.  _ That _ is the lesson.    
_ But that’s not even a lesson at all, it’s the way it is. He can’t change that, he can’t...change. _   
  
This, of course, also does not change the fact that Maxie has no intention of turning around. In fact, it emboldens him. The highway tilts down. Even the fact that he’s only wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown is somehow making it easier to walk, and walk.   
And despite all his most virtuous instincts, he’d really like to stop, please. And go home. Actually  _ home _ . He’d...really like to reach the town at the other end of this highway and be greeted with sweet and lovely utopia people, and Archie.    
  
Or else, not arrive anywhere.   
So he follows Archie slowly, like a little lost boy.   
  


* * *

Then, all at once - Maxie wasn’t.  
He could tell from the branches bashing against the window outside; he was sleeping in Archie’s double bed, staring at the ceiling where he used to see storm clouds and hear the drum of sleet on the asphalt.  
A pair of buttons dug into his wrists. His chest still ached like someone pressed an ice pack up against it. His breathing wouldn’t work. The clock had just struck five in the morning. Two hours from when their alarms went off, two hours _left_.  
  
He...had an awful feeling that as soon as the person lying in bed with him woke up, they would have a Talk, a Conversation about what he did last night, and despite his most virtuous efforts he was frightened of those. And it would be very, very serious and completely unavoidable. No, no, in two hours Maxie wasn’t going to be the happy, sweet boyfriend anymore, he was going to be the paranoid, delusional, fragile, danger-to-himself-and-others -   
  
So naturally his first instinct was still to try and burrow into Archie’s chest. Quietly, he wrapped his arms extremely tight around them, and shivered. On some level, maybe the good touch would make up for the bad over the two hours he could still _do_ it.  
That was when Archie woke up.  
  
(After a short while of bleary-eyedness and confusion, he realised what was going on. He could feel Maxie’s pulse racing through his pyjama shirt, blood rushing through the veins on his neck and wrist. Hard, fast breathing. No eye contact yet.)  
  
Archie looked down. “Bad dream, huh?...”  
Maxie croaked something that sounded vaguely like _don’t-know-what-I-did,_ all one word. His eyes were still screwed shut when Archie shifted them both, up and over so that Maxie almost lay in Archie’s lap, swaddled in blankets and two pairs of arms. 

Maxie was murmuring some kind of...jumble of words, pressed into Archie’s chest. He couldn’t stop. Even his huffing and puffing sounded like a feeble attempt at speech.    
“What’d I do?”    
“ _ Shhhh-hhhh-hhh. _ ”   
“ _ Archie, what’d I do?  _ ”   
“You haven’t done a thing, Max,” Archie cooed, “nothing’s changed.” He tried resting a hand on their back. They sounded like they’d run a mile in their sleep - until Maxie took a breath in wrong and he coughed and sputtered and gasped and before he could stop himself...his face was wet and a patch of blanket was equally damp. Either tears, or spit, or both, he couldn’t tell.   
“Ohhh, love. It’s okay, it’s okay…”   
  
Archie did know one thing. Tomorrow was the first anniversary of the Hoenn Weather Disaster. The two of them had gone through the hundred little things they could do to make the day easier on themselves and everyone else. Throwing away the newspapers, booking a therapist’s appointment as close to the day as they could, little messages of support thrown between them. ...An acknowledgement that one of them might have a panic attack. (...Archie’s so proud of Maxie for that alone.)   
Either way, it was going to be a long day.   
  
“You know what might be good later?” Archie said aloud, once it felt like Maxie had quietened down, “something to eat. Maybe some toast, some warm milk. Give you some of that energy back so you’re not completely tuckered out.”    
“I’ll be  _ sick _ ,” Maxie managed to squeeze out between gasps, “I can’t - “   
“Riiight. Right, right, right. We can stay here, that’s also good...”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> yeah as it turns out when i stop being a perfectionist i get very dark very quickly. this is the kind of shit i wanna write in an ex criminal's guide but i can't do that yet so :shrug: hehe


End file.
